


sunsets were made for us

by exoskeletons



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Canon Rape, Road Trips, Sexual Content, mentions of domestic abuse, ot3 gang ride or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exoskeletons/pseuds/exoskeletons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ian and mickey and mandy go on a road trip. that's all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunsets were made for us

**Author's Note:**

> hi babes!!! couple things: first of all, everywhere mentioned in this story is real!!! i'd be happy to tell anyone where they are, i just don't feel like it right now, so if you comment w questions i will 100% get back to you with links!!!!  
> also, this was a weird and drawn out fic which i mostly just want to be done with so be warned that it may be v ooc.  
> uuuum also i love mickey and mandy and ian a whole lot. that's my last point.  
> (ps nothing belongs 2 me)

Mickey hates road trips.

“How do you even know? How many road trips have you been on, dick?” asks Ian, as he and Mandy plan out a route on some decades-old map they found in the ancient van the Gallaghers keep in the backyard.

“Um, a lot, fuckhead,” says Mickey. “How do you think we made all the drug runs with Terry, back in the day?” He doesn’t even like to think about those trips. It’d be just him, his brothers, and his dad, all sitting in a car silently, for hours on end. Nobody spoke, or if they did speak it was just to say some asshole shit to someone else. The car was always cramped and usually smelled like spoiled milk. They were not happy times.

Ian bristles a little and his mouth becomes a hard line when Mickey says Terry’s name. “Mick, those weren’t road trips, those were just long car rides.”

“The fuck is the difference?”

Mandy looks up from where she was carefully outlining a highway in pink highlighter. “For one thing, we don’t all hate each other.”

“We aren’t on our way to sell illegal substances,” Ian keeps going.

“Yeah, just smoke them,” Mandy says, snorting.

Ian grins, then reaches a hand out, laying it on Mickey’s. “It’ll be fun, Mick. We can stop at, like, the world’s biggest ball of twine and stuff like that, and eat shit food, and it’s really fucking cheap because we’ll only stay in shitty motels. Or maybe we can even sleep in the van.” He grins, and when Mickey still looks unimpressed, he continues with “I’ll suck your dick as much as you want if you’ll go with us. Like, nonstop.” At that, Mickey slowly smiles.

“Jesus Christ, you two are so fucking gross, no way I’m sleeping in the van with you,” grumbles Mandy, still highlighting as Mickey drags Ian upstairs to his bedroom. “Disgusting.”

***

They start out on a Tuesday, in the middle of June. Ian has sandwiches Fiona packed, and Mickey has beers, and Mandy has weed, and the Milkovich van is full of gas, and they set off South. Ian made them all leave early, so the sun is just rising, and even though they’re a little too late to miss the commuter traffic, their largely unemployed neighborhood is still quiet. Mickey drives, and Ian sits shotgun next to him, paging through the map. Mandy’s sleeping in the back, covered in a blanket with her hair covering her face.

Mickey has to admit this is nice. 

“So Gallagher, where we headed?” he asks. After agreeing to come, Mickey’s stayed out of the planning sessions for this trip, letting Mandy and Ian laugh over Internet websites named “Illinois Roadside Attractions.” 

Ian grins, a little shyly. “We don’t really know, honestly. We have ideas.”

“So what, I should just drive South for the rest of my life?”

Ian stares at Mickey the way he does sometimes, like Mickey is the most amazing thing in the world, and Mickey feels himself blush. “Where do you want to go, Mick?”

Mickey takes one hand off the wheel and rubs his lip. “Fuck if I know. I didn’t even want to go on this dumbass trip, remember?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Okay. Well, me and Mandy were thinking we go all the way to St. Louis. She wants to see that wheel thing.”

Mickey snorts. “It’s an arch, firecrotch. An arch, not a wheel.”

Ian laughs, easy, like honey dripping off a comb. “Sorry.” He hesitates for a second, then jumps out of his seat and plants a kiss on Mickey’s cheek. It’s soft and Mickey feels Ian’s breath lightly on his skin for a second afterwards. His head swims for a second, like his brain is zooming past him, and Mickey decides Ian’s not allowed to kiss him while he’s driving anymore because he’s a little worried he’ll swerve next time and kill them all, and God it’s pathetic how much Ian has him wrapped around his finger.

Ian’s back in his seat then, grinning and looking all too pleased with himself, like he can tell how fucked Mickey is for him. Mickey flips him off, grinning and feeling just a little giddy as he rounds a corner through the streets of South Chicago. Ian looks like a beautiful, angelic alien with his red hair and white skin glowing in the sun.

They drive through Chicago for a bit, then merge onto Interstate 94, then 57. Mandy wakes up after about an hour, and demands that they turn the radio on. So the quiet, sunny car fills up with Top 40 and Mandy’s warbling voice, making Ian try to harmonize with her, and the two of them dissolving into hysterical laughter when Ian’s voice cracks in the middle of a Katy Perry song. At one point, Mandy shouts out “Take it away, Mickey!” and Mickey tells her to go fuck herself.

Ian, in the middle of a giggle fit that Mickey kind of wants to make fun of him for but doesn’t because it’s really fucking cute, chokes out “yeah, Mick, sing!” and Mickey says something about how he’s gonna turn the car around if they don’t shut the fuck up, but they just keep yelling at him, both laughing themselves to death, and then Mickey’s laughing too, and Mandy’s pounding on her lap shouting “Mick-ey! Mick-ey! Mick-ey!” like she’s at a goddamn football game and so finally Mickey turns up the volume on the radio and screams out “YOU DON’T KNOW YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!”

Mandy screeches, and Ian falls against the window, convulsing in laughter, and Mickey keeps singing. “IF ONLY YOU SAW WHAT IIII COULD SEE, YOU’D UNDERSTAND WHY I WANT YOU SO DEEESPERATELY, YOU DON’T KNOW, OH OH,” he shouts, not even singing, just yelling so loud his voice is giving out a little. “THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFULLLL,” he finishes, and lets out a whoop, feeling exhilarated and free. He rolls down the window, letting Ian and Mandy’s cheers and claps out into the air rushing by them, and it’s really truly like they’re flying. 

***

They’re well outside Chicago, now, passing empty, flat fields. The highway signs name towns with names like Peotone, then Manteno, then Bourbonnais, which they all spend a good ten minutes pronouncing in increasingly bizarre ways until they all agree that Mandy is probably right because she got a C+ in the one and a half semesters of French she took sophomore year. She starts to complain about being hungry, and Mickey snarks at her about how she should have had more breakfast, then, instead of eating a bite of cereal then falling asleep at the table and making Ian carry her out to the car. 

“Let’s just exit here, Mick,” says Ian, and Mickey grumbles a little but turns off the expressway. He’s kind of hungry too, to be fair.

They pull off into a little town named Kankakee, which Mickey thinks sounds like another name for pussy. “What the hell?” Ian says, laughing.

“Just think about it, man. Imagine some asshole talking to his friends at a bar, like, ‘hey, let’s go get ourselves some Kankakee.’” 

“You’re a dumbass, Mickey,” Mandy contributes.

They stop at a tiny little diner because it looks cheap. Mickey and Ian sit on one side of the table and Mandy sits on the other, and an old lady brings them menus. It’s a tiny place, like something time forgot. Everything’s a little sticky, and neon signs for Coca-Cola are on the walls, and the whole thing looks like it came out of _Grease_ or something, like a bunch of girls in poodle skirts are about to barge in talking about some sockhop.

“Score,” says Ian, pointing out pie for $2.50. Mickey smiles.

The old lady comes back and they all order burgers and milkshakes. She says something to Mandy that Mickey doesn’t quite catch, and Mandy snorts and says “No! Gross,” smiling.

After she leaves, Mickey leans in. “What the fuck did she ask you? Invite you to be in her lesbian three way?”

Mandy gives him a deadpan look. “You’re the dumbest person on this planet.” She pauses. “She asked if I was dating either of you.”

Ian grins, but Mickey feels a little sick, and because Ian is the best boyfriend- god, what a weird word- in the world, he notices immediately that Mickey isn’t 100% anymore. Mickey feels Ian’s fingertips graze over his under the table, then grab his hand tight. He squeezes back, and when Mandy excuses herself to pee, Ian turns towards him. 

“What’s wrong?”

Mickey lets go of Ian’s hand, takes a sip of water from the slightly sticky plastic cup. “Nothing, man. It’s all good.” He sounds fake even to himself, and Ian raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed. Mickey rolls his eyes. “It’s just… I don’t want people thinking you’re with my sister, or whatever. I want ‘em to know you’re with me. But I don’t wanna get fucking beat up over that, either,” he says quietly.

Ian casts a glance around the empty diner, and drops his head so their foreheads lean together. “Mick. Listen to me. We’re okay.” He smirks a little. “We got no reason to be scared, cuz anyone who fucks with us is about to get their ass handed to them.” He drops a quick kiss on Mickey’s lips. “I’ll protect you.”

Mickey leans back. “Oh, you’re protectin’ me, huh? Yeah, yeah, asshole. You keep thinking that,” he says, laughing, and Ian smiles.

Mandy comes back from the bathroom right as their food comes, and they all gulp down chocolate shakes and argue about whether John Travolta is gay or not- Ian says yes, Mandy says no, and Mickey is on the fence.

Right as they’re leaving, stuffed with burgers and chocolate and pie, Mickey walks back to the bathrooms. On the way, he passes by their old waitress, who puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him as he walks by. “Your boyfriend is very cute,” she says quietly, a conspiratorial grin on her face.

Mickey stammers out “Uh— um, yeah, I mean, um,” and she chuckles, walking past him into the kitchen. Mickey walks confusedly to the bathroom, takes a piss and walks back out in a daze. When he gets into the van, sitting in the backseat because Mandy and Ian have already claimed driver’s and shotgun, he sits with his brow all furrowed.

“Mick, you okay?” asks Ian as he backs out of their parking space. 

Mickey opens his mouth and sits silently for a bit, then lets out “You’re pretty cute, Gallagher.”

“Disgusting,” Mandy says distractedly, and Ian turns all the way around in his seat to grin at Mickey. His teeth are bright white, and when he smiles this big you can still kind of see his freckles.

“You’re pretty cute too, Milkovich,” he says, then turns back around and drives away.

***

They sleep in the car the first night, but the second day there’s a heat wave and everything is sticky and sweaty and they’re all peeling their thighs off the upholstery, buckling seat belts carefully so they don’t burn themselves on the buckles. The heat hasn’t broken by night and it somehow feels even hotter, the air heavy.

The van is terrible, and Ian is staring up at the roof trying to pretend he doesn’t see it squeezing in on him, doesn’t feel the atmosphere crushing him down, isn’t drowning in his own sweat. He doesn’t realize how loud he’s breathing until Mandy slides her sweaty palm into his and squeezes.

He turns to look at her, and she smiles and sits up. “This sucks. Let’s go,” she says, opening the van doors, and Ian knows it isn’t actually that much cooler out there but it _feels_ like his whole body can breathe again.

She kicks Mickey, who grunts. “Get up, loser,” she says, then grabs a blanket and heads out. They’re parked in some weird lot, on the edge of a prairie, and Mandy lays her blanket down and gets on the ground. Ian follows, putting his pillow next to hers and dropping down, and oh thank Jesus because this was exactly what he wanted. Mickey drops down on Ian’s other side and goes right back to snoring because Mickey is ridiculous, and Ian feels like his soul is coming out with every breath, filling the entire world, and there’s endless endless room for him to just be. He doesn’t need to run anymore.

There are so many stars out here.

***

Ian drives fast and straight and steady, like he does most things, and the expressway is mostly empty in the mid afternoon. They talk a little, listen to some music. Mickey and Mandy nap. At one point, they pull over and all smoke a joint together and look out at the cornfields. They stop and hang out at some weird memorial to hippies who died protesting the Vietnam war, and Mickey makes fun of Ian about how he better be careful, don’t let any of these guys know you were gonna enlist, good thing you don’t have that buzz cut anymore, huh?

Ian looks over where Mandy is taking pictures of the colorful mural, which appears to have a Vulcan hand sign next to a license plate that says “WOODSTC” and feels like a pot-driven fever dream. Then he turns back. “You like my hair, though,” he says, real low, almost growling. Mickey swallows.

“Eh, your hair’s okay,” he says, staring into Ian’s eyes, which feel really, really close.

Then Ian’s grabbing his hand and taking him behind the wall, shoving him up against the back of the mural and sucking a hickey onto his neck. “Ian—” Mickey chokes out, his hands and fingers knotting into red hair, and when Ian hums against his neck and drops to his knees, unzipping Mickey’s jeans and starting to suck his dick, Mickey thinks it’s very possible he’s gone to heaven in the empty lot behind the world’s one and only Hippie Memorial. After he comes, Ian looks up at him, his mouth swollen, panting almost as hard as Mickey. 

“Your turn,” Ian says, and they kiss for a second, hot and messy, before switching.

When they finally come out from behind the wall, hair all messy and lips pouty, giggly and smelling a little like sex, Mandy is sitting on a bench, playing with her phone, looking bored. “Hey, there you two are,” she says, deadpan, without even looking up. “Did you know this town is the broomcorn capital of the world? Or that the creator of fucking Raggedy Andy was born here? Or that this county has the most Amish people in Illinois? I know that, because I just spent half an hour reading some pamphlet from the visitor’s center.” She holds it up, still looking down at her phone screen.

“Sorry, Mands,” says Ian, his voice shaking a little with laughter.

She looks up, her mouth straight across and eyes narrowed. “Disgusting,” they all say at the same time, and even Mandy smiles a little.

***

Around the fourth day, they all start to miss home, which is both bizarre and completely unsurprising.

Mandy wakes up in the middle of the night, like she does sometimes, and there’s just quiet. She gets out of the car and walks around the trailer park they’ve hijacked their way into for a bit, smoking a blunt, and she realizes that if she was home, she’d go get Yevgeny out of his crib and hang out with him, walking him around, and she suddenly feels incredibly lonely.

Ian gets a call from Lip, and walks around at a gas station during a pit stop telling him all about the weird Amish garden they visited and trying to do so without really mentioning Mandy because he knows it makes Lip feel weird.

“Sounds cool, man.” Lip pauses. “Hey, we miss you at the ice cream truck. Need more people to roll joints for us. Me and Kev can’t do it fast enough.”

Ian smirks and says he’ll help when he’s home, hangs up the phone after a little while longer, and five minutes later realizes that he misses Lip like an ache.

Mickey realizes that he’s homesick when they stop for lunch at a McDonald’s. The windows show a few other rest stop amenities- gas station, Burger King- but beyond that, nothing but flat and empty land. It’s too much space, he decides, missing the safety that Chicago buildings offer. You can hide in Chicago. Out here it’s a lot harder.

***

Around 4:00, they’re driving in a comfortable silence when Mandy lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Mandy, fuck, what!?!” shrieks Ian, and Mickey starts to leap for the gun he packed just in case.

“Gays!!!!” she shouts, and they both gape at her.

“ _What_?” Ian says from the driver’s seat.

“Gays, Illinois!” she squeals, pointing it out to Mickey on the map with a long fingernail. Sure enough, there it is, in tiny letters: Gays.

“We have to go,” she says. “I wanna take a picture of you two in front of the sign.”

“Mandy—” Mickey starts, but gets interrupted by Ian, saying “Well, I mean, it’s about time to stop.”

“Gays, Illinois? Hell, no. I’m not queer enough for that.”

Ten minutes later, they’re pulling off the Interstate onto Route 16, on their way to Gays: Home of the Two Story Outhouse.

“I feel like there’s an anal sex joke there somewhere,” says Ian, and Mickey throws Mandy’s balled up tourism pamphlet at his head.

The car stops at the WELCOME TO GAYS: POPULATION 757 sign, and Mandy says “Okay, losers. Time to make some memories.”

“No fuckin’ way,” says Mickey. He crosses his arms, feeling a little like a six year old. 

“Come on, Mick,” says Ian, making a dumb stupid puppy face. “Just one picture.”

Mickey let out a burst of air from his lips. “Fine. Just one,” and gets out, standing in front of the sign with his shoulders set and his arms crossed. Mandy opens her mouth like she’s about to protest— _show some enthusiasm, you homo! —_ but Ian goes up to her and whispers something in her ear, and she grins.

Ian comes and stands right next to Mickey, and Mandy holds up her little disposable camera. “Okay, guys… three… two… ONE!” she shouts, and right as she’s taking the photo Ian grabs Mickey, swooping him up into his arms and kissing the shit out of him. Somewhere in the back of his head Mickey registers that this is a sneak attack, that he should shove this dumb fucker off of him, that Mandy is cackling somewhere in the background, but Ian’s stupid tongue is in his mouth and his arms are around his waist and so Mickey can’t quite bring himself to be mad about this.

Ian doesn’t break away until Mandy’s back in the car, leaning against the console to honk the horn. He chuckles a little, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, and whispers “welcome to Gays” before jogging back to the van, leaving Mickey to stand alone and catch his breath. God dammit. He’s literally in love with a child. 

They check out the two story outhouse and it is somehow underwhelming despite how incredibly low their expectations were. “I don’t get it,” says Mandy. “It’s just a skinny building with two floors.”

“Next time Svetlana and Nika use our crapper for five hours in the morning I’m gonna build one of these in our backyard,” says Mickey.

“Gross,” says Ian, wrinkling his nose. “Jesus, Mick, sometimes I’m not even sure why I hang out with you.”

“You love my ass.”

“True.”

“ _Disgusting._ ”

***

Mickey wakes up, sometimes, from naps in the car or from sleeping overnight curled up against Ian, and for a second he forgets where he is. He thinks, in these weird, confused moments where he’s only half-conscious, that he’s back home, with his dad, and he feels the bile rise in his throat, starts to slide back into the well-worn constant state of terror.

Then he looks out the window at sliding countryside, or feels the rise and fall of Ian’s chest, and he remembers everything. 

He goes back to sleep.

***

Even though it’s only six and they could totally still drive for a while, they pull in at a motel and splurge on two of those rooms with the connecting doors, so they can still hang out but Ian and Mickey can also fuck. (“Disgusting,” Mandy says, as the receptionist gives them their keys.)

When they find out there’s a pool, Ian shouts out “I told you so!” and they all go scrambling into the rooms to grab the swimsuits he’d made them buy from KMart. Mickey can’t really swim, and Mandy only knows the basics because she used to hang out at the pool and tan a lot, but Ian’s really fucking good, and he tries to show them how to do breaststroke before giving up and accepting that they’re all just gonna splash each other in the shallow end. Mickey gives Mandy a titty twister, and she knees him in the balls underwater, which Ian responds to with “No, Mands! I need those!” They both stop fighting and turn on him, looking suddenly very scary.

“You fucking nerd,” says Mandy.

“Oh shit,” says Ian, before being dunked underwater for a solid 30 seconds.

Eventually everyone turns all pruny and tired and they go back to their rooms, where they pile on Ian and Mickey’s bed in their wet suits and watches a reality show about people buying islands. 

(“I’m hungry as hell, who’s gonna get some food,” says Mickey.

“Yeah, Ian feed us,” Mandy whines, and Ian smiles at the two hopeless human beings he’s aligned himself with and drives to the closest fast food drive in.)

“Ian, would you buy me an island?” asks Mandy as she eats her burger.

“‘Course I would. Mickey too,” he says, smiling. “And one for myself, so we would never have to speak to each other again.”

“Perfect.”

“Why does Mickey get one? He’s a doucheface.”

“Shut up, asswipe.”

When Mandy finally gets going, yawning her way off to bed with a “have nice sex,” Ian sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Mickey is showering, and Ian’s freaking out a little bit about how there’s a naked Mickey Milkovich in the same room as him who isn’t actually fucking him at that moment.

When Mickey comes out, shirtless with loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips, Ian feels absurdly shy, like he shouldn’t really be touching him. Mickey stands in the doorway of the bathroom for a while, just staring at Ian and feeling like a blushing, virginal bride with his strong, strapping suitor waiting to ravish him. Or whatever. He didn’t read Mandy’s romance novels, or anything. 

“Hey,” says Ian, and Mickey takes a slow step forward, and then Ian is off of the bed and they’re colliding and Ian is holding Mickey tight, so so so tight, and slipping his hands down his pants to squeeze his ass and biting his lips and kissing him sloppy and hard. When Ian starts to suck yet another hickey right next to the one from a few days ago, which was just starting to fade, Mickey leans his head back, making an absurd whimpering sound that he’ll deny ever having emitted if asked.

Ian spins them, shoving Mickey down on the bed and pulling down his sweatpants, and now Mickey’s naked and Ian’s fully clothed and Mickey’s sort of pissed off but then not pissed off anymore because the way Ian’s eyes rake over his body, like he owns it and he’s amazed by it and he loves it, really doesn’t leave room for anything else. Ian slowly leans down to kiss Mickey, soft and sweet and chaste, and nope, that shit’s not gonna fly. Mickey bucks his hips, trying to make Ian speed up, but he holds them down, taking his time, kissing down Mickey’s chest lightly. Mickey whines.

“ _Iannnn_ ,” he says, slightly embarrassed but also not really embarrassed at all because he mostly just needs a dick in him, like, five minutes ago. They haven’t been able to fuck at all on this trip besides a couple quick blow jobs because they’ve spent every night either in a motel room with Mandy or in the backseat of the van. Mickey can only take so many furtive morning jerkoffs in the shower before he needs a real cock in his ass— preferably Ian’s, but honestly it’s been so long he’s not above going to some local gay bar and finding a hot one night stand.

“I love you, Mick,” says Ian between kisses, and Mickey feels immediately guilty for contemplating finding someone else to fuck him when he has this sweet, generous, infuriating, hot as hell guy with a bigass dick ready and willing to pound him into oblivion.

“I love you too, dickhead, but I’d love you a lot more if you’d get a move on,” he says breathily, and Ian laughs and gets off of the bed, going to his bag and digging around for some lube. He tosses it onto the bed and then stands there in all his clothes with a shit-eating grin. He climbs up on Mickey slowly, like some kind of cat or something, then takes his dick tight in his hand. 

“I own you, Mick. You’re mine,” he says, slowly starting to jerk him off. Mickey snorts.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I’m fucking—” Mickey stops talking, his whole speech cut off as Ian shoves a lubed up finger into him. “Yours,” he lets out lamely, and then Ian’s off, ripping off his clothes and pumping in and out of Mickey’s ass, kissing and fingering and then fucking hard and fast and just like Mickey wants him to, and they both finish a little quicker than is acceptable but Mickey figures fuck it, they’re still teenage boys. They’re allowed to come ridiculously fast sometimes. 

He looks over at Ian lying next to him, panting a little still, skin slightly sticky with sweat. “I really do love you, Gallagher,” he says.

Ian smiles and rolls toward him, enveloping Mickey in his arms. Mickey likes to be the little spoon, but he’ll never ask for it, and he loves that Ian knows anyway. Loves most things about Ian, actually, from his bright red hair to his weirdly long second toe. Ian kisses his neck right below the ear, and they both fall asleep.

***

One day, after driving on a ruler straight country road for half an hour, all alone, Ian slams on the  breaks. 

“The fuck, Gallagher?” asks Mickey, but Ian ignores him, turning to Mandy.

“You wanna drive?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t even have a permit.”

“Just do it,” he says, and opens the driver’s side door.

Mandy drives down the road for the next hour, going about ten miles an hour, and every time they pass an empty, barren intersection she screams, and it’s probably the worst driving job anyone’s ever done.

When she’s done, Ian and Mickey cheer so loud they imagine people hearing it all the way back home.

***

“Shit.”

Mandy’s staring up at the St. Louis Arch, her head all the way back, mouth lolling a little, and Ian kind of wants to make fun of her but doesn’t, and Mickey really wants to make fun of her so he does. “You shuttin’ your mouth anytime soon?”

She flips him off, rolling her eyes. “Shut up, Mickey. This is _cool_ ,” she says, cocking a hip, and he wants to laugh out loud at how ridiculous his sister is, but she’s also kind of oddly terrifying, like if he doesn’t demonstrate appropriate awe at this fucking arch she’ll stab him. There’s an amicable pause while they all stare appreciatively up.

“Hey, I’m gonna go check out the visitor’s center, figure out how much it would cost for us to actually go up,” says Ian, giving the two of them a little smile as he walks over to the booth, and no, shut the fuck up, Mickey only checks out his ass a little.

He and Mandy walk a little bit, sitting on a bench together and sharing a bag of Lemonheads, which are so amazingly sour that Ian tried to eat one and had to spit it out. Mickey and Mandy have always loved them. Occasionally, Mandy will take two many and he’ll shove her with his shoulder, and she’ll chuckle and shove back. The air is warm but not sticky hot, like it’s been.

Mickey tentatively looks over at his sister. Sometimes he feels like an asshole for forgetting what she’s been through, being so focused on his own shitty life that he forgets that she got raped by their dad too, and she got hit by her boyfriend, and she’s his little sister and he should have protected her from that and when he thinks about it the shame still feels heavy and painful in his gut. Mandy kicked Kenyatta out herself, in April, when the sun finally started to come out from the long winter. Svetlana had asked her, in her accented English, why the fuck it had taken so long; Mandy’d said she’d needed to feel ready. Mickey’s 99% sure it was because he shouted at Ian while he was in a depressive episode, and while Mandy can never do one fucking thing for herself she’ll move the goddamn world for someone else.

Well, not anyone else. Ian, mostly, and Mickey. Yevgeny. Svetlana, sometimes, and Nika, a slightly less often sometimes. Debbie Gallagher. Lip, although he pretends not to know that his sister would still probably drown herself to get that boy a drink of water on a hot day because if Mickey knows that he’ll want to go punch his boyfriend’s brother and that’ll go over badly.

Mandy’s doing good, he thinks, looking at her. She’s doing good, and she looks happy, and her whole face is open and sparkly and not so angry as it is sometimes. He loves her a lot.

“Mands?”

She looks at him, eyebrows raised in a silent _what?,_ and he continues. “Thanks for making me come on this trip.”

Mandy grins. “See? Said you’d fucking like it. I’m always right.”

Ian comes then, says he’d gotten them three tickets for cheap by getting some old guy to buy them at the senior price. Mandy squeals and kisses him on the cheek, and they crowd together for the whole elevator ride up. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, and it’s contagious because Ian feels his heart racing as they zoom up and he sees Mickey bite his lip in the cute way he bites his lip. They get out on the observation deck, and look out at the city.

“Wowie, Helen, get a picture!” says the middle aged man next to them, and his wife pulls a big camera out of her fanny pack, and Mickey, Mandy, & Ian avoid each others’ eyes because they don’t trust themselves not to burst out laughing.

Mickey looks out at the city, looks at the horizon, looks at the bright blue sky. He thinks about the baby back in Chicago made of pieces of him, thinks about the boy next to him who still gets dragged down like he’s anchored sometimes, thinks of his dad still alive somewhere. He thinks of the family he’s somehow made for himself where, magically, nobody beats each other up and everyone kind of likes each other, thinks about waking up every morning safe and warm, thinks about Ian’s kisses peppering his neck.

They stand in front of the windows. Ian is smiling. It feels like the simplest thing in the world to lean over and kiss him, feels like loving Ian in front of all of St. Louis is just another kind of coming home.


End file.
